The further and continuing adventures of the girl who sat in the back of your homeroom, reading and daydreaming.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Just Like Elvis

What is it about dead, famous Southern-born folk? Why won't they stay dead, or at least have the consideration to show up as shambling, decomposing zombies?

Truman Capote (September 30, 1924 – August 25, 1984) is alive, well, and gives every sign of having a wonderful time on his sojourn in this dreary, Midwestern hell:Here he is at the intersection of College and 54th, enjoying our quaint local miltaria shop. I was on my way to the Fresh Market; looks like his native guide is taking him over to Butler student/yupster hangout Moe & Johnny's, diagonally across the intersection.

(Looking up Mr. Capote's biography, I was reminded why even though I loathe most of his political and personal views, I enjoy hearing Gore Vidal speak every bit as much as I liked listening to William F. Buckley. Sayeth Mr. Vidal: "Truman Capote has tried, with some success, to get into a world that I have tried, with some success, to get out of." Woosh! Is there anyone else left who can fight in the same weight class?)

My favorite Vidal quote: (prolly not exact) "Did I know Jack Kerouac? Hell, I &*%^ed him!" Mr. Vidal always claimed that he was not homosexual, but homo-erotic. The distinction is lost on me. M'self, I think polymorphous pervert is the only way to go, tempered by good manners, principles of hygeine, and religion.

"I saw to what extent the people among whom I lived could be trusted as good neighbors and friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that they did not greatly propose to do right; that they were a distinct race from me by their prejudices and superstitions."